


What It Takes

by michals



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24082741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michals/pseuds/michals
Summary: It's not the years, it's the trauma. Head injuries don't heal like broken bones, and Ethan's got more than 20 years of them catching up to him. Will notices.
Relationships: William Brandt/Ethan Hunt
Comments: 10
Kudos: 61





	What It Takes

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Всё, что было](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28649943) by [Kaellig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaellig/pseuds/Kaellig)



> I always wonder how long Ethan would make it without all of those hits finally adding up. Trigger warning for anyone who's sensitive about head trauma or its effects. But while this was meant to be angstier it turned out surprisingly fluffy in parts, so it's not overly dark if that helps.

The first sign is when Ethan forgets the German word for ‘trade’. Which is not, in itself, anything that would set off warning bells, but Ethan Hunt knew 15 languages by the time he was thirty and German is nothing compared to Cantonese. The mediator between the IMF and the black market runners Ethan’s making a deal with don’t seem to notice him stumble, his eyebrows knitting as he searches for the word. But any sign of confusion gets erased with that half smile that slides so easily across his lips. He makes a sly excuse – ‘seems you distract me’, and the woman preens at the flattery – and switches the word out for ‘bargain’ and the rest of the deal goes off without a hitch.

Ethan won’t talk about it, of course. Later that night they get the rest of their marching orders and he acts like nothing’s happened. Benji and Luther act like nothing’s happened. Will carefully turns it over in his head because he’s an analyst, it’s what he’s supposed to do, and because it’s Ethan. It might actually be nothing and Will’s just overreacting, but better to make a note of it in the file on Ethan Hunt that Will’s constantly adding to in his brain.

-

“She wanted to sleep with you,” Will tells him two days later in a hotel in Prague, undoing his tie.

Ethan throws a grin over his shoulder as he unbuttons his cuffs. “A lot of people want to sleep with me.”

Will drops his hands dramatically. “That doesn’t make me feel better, you know.”

Ethan’s still grinning when he turns and sidles up to Will, taking the ends of his tie in either hand. He presses a kiss to Will’s lips that Will, annoyed as he is, returns eagerly. “And yet I’m here,” he says soft and low, “with you.”

Will doesn’t need more than that to be reassured – hell he didn’t even need that if he’s honest, he’ll take Ethan as long as he’ll let him have him. He slides his hands over Ethan’s hips and pulls him into another kiss, Ethan using his grip on Will’s tie so they meet halfway. They stumble over each other tugging the other’s clothes off, and Will about throws Ethan on the bed. Will kisses him without a single worry in his head. The outside world disappears when they’re together like this, and right now Will refuses to dwell on things he can’t change.

-

Ethan’s repeating himself more. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s doing it. He tells Benji twice in one conversation that the door systems need to go down by midnight, and it could just be that he’s repeating it cause he’s the leader and it’s his job to make sure everyone knows what they’re supposed to do. Except he’s never done it before.

Ethan expects his teams to keep up with him, and he knows Benji can. And Luther, and Will, and Jane. On another job when he tells Luther three times that the security guard’s name is Wilder Luther doesn’t point it out. But he does catch Will’s eye and give him a look that says, ‘yeah, I know’.

Ethan still does his job and he does it well. Does it better than anyone. At the end of the day he’s still Ethan Hunt and the day still gets saved. Only now Will has a list. He’s always worried about Ethan, even if it wasn’t his job he still would have. It wasn’t until later, after the night that he first dared to kiss him and thank God he kissed back, that he realized it was more than that. So he keeps this list to himself and doesn’t mention it to Ethan.

-

“Yours or mine?” Will murmurs into the back of Ethan’s neck as a phone buzzes incessantly on the nightstand.

Ethan shifts away and then back, “Yours.” He holds it up over his shoulder and Will grumbles but answers it, putting it against his ear.

It’s Benji, because who else would it be, already mid spiel. “-mean it could look worse, but it definitely doesn’t look good. Not a bad idea to get the jump on-”

“Benji,” Will interrupts, still half asleep, “This better be at least a 7 on the ‘we’re all gonna die soon’ meter.”

Benji pauses, Will presses his lips to Ethan’s bare shoulder. “Well,” Benji says, “it’s at least a…5?”

“Call me when it’s 7,” Will says, words half mumbled into Ethan’s skin.

“Who put you in charge, Mr. Analyst?” Benji only uses the insult – that isn’t an insult cause it’s true – when he’s peeved. “Let me talk to Ethan. I know he’s there,” his voice picks up, “Ethan?!”

“Bye Benj, we’ll meet you for lunch,” Will says and cuts off the call. He leans over Ethan to drop the phone back next to his on the stand.

“Are we going to die?” Ethan asks, sounding even less awake than Will.

“Probably not until after lunch,” he answers, pressing a kiss to the point of his jaw. Will can feel him smiling. “You going to go out?” It’s nearly 6 AM, Ethan’d be getting out of bed soon for his morning run.

They rarely see the inside of Will’s DC apartment, but by some grace of either the IMF or the terrorists apparently taking a couple days off they’ve had time to actually settle in for a little bit. Will savors it for as long as he can. He’d never been overly fond of his own place, it was just somewhere to keep his clothes, but it feels a hell of a lot more like home after an endless string of hotels - and with Ethan in his bed. Plus there’s this pond three blocks away Ethan likes to run around.

“Hmm,” Ethan hums, eyes closed, “not today.” He laces his fingers through Will’s over his chest.

Will raises his eyebrows even though he know Ethan can’t see it. “Never thought I’d see the day.” He buries his face against Ethan’s shoulder.

“First time for everything,” Ethan says.

-

The door hits the wall so hard it swings back and Will has to throw up his arm to keep it from hitting him in the face.

“You know what I meant Will!” Ethan’s saying, stalking into the room.

“I know that,” Will says and hopes it sounds as sincere as he means it to, “But it’s just-”

“Just what?” Ethan says and finally turns to him, eyes hard and cold.

It’s just that Ethan had dropped a sentence before he’d finished it. Said ‘Jane you need to-’ and never found the end of it. He hadn’t noticed. Jane had looked to Will and this time Ethan saw. Saw the concerned look in their eyes and only then did he realize what he’d done.

“You all-” Ethan rubs his hand against this mouth, the other white knuckled on his hip, “you should all know by now…”

This time it’s not that he forgets to end it it’s that he doesn’t know how. Jane has worked with Ethan long enough to know what he means, to follow his logic, but that’s not what this is.

“We do,” Will says gently, coming to stand in front of him, “you know we do.” He takes the chance and puts his hand on Ethan’s opposite hip, curling around his waist.

“I’m fine,” Ethan says emphatically, eyes unwaveringly trained on Will’s.

“I know,” Will says.

-

“It’s fine,” Will’s telling him. They’re outside the Louvre, on a bench where employees come to smoke. He’s got one hand gently on the back of his neck, Ethan sits with his head in his hands.

It’s just a headache. Should be, anyway. But Ethan can barely stand because of the pain. He can’t do his job. For the first time in his life he can’t do his job.

“I’m alright,” he says, but his voice is shaky and thin. Will talks to him, face close to his. Luther and Jane are watching, Will doesn’t care.

“It’s fine,” he whispers. “You trust us, right?”

Ethan pulls his hand away enough to match Will’s gaze. Will knows he’s the only one who gets to see him like this: open and vulnerable, and he’ll never take that for granted.

“Yeah,” Ethan says.

Will doesn’t call for an extraction team, knows Ethan would never abide by it, knows he couldn’t stand for everyone to know he’s hurting. He walks away from Ethan on the bench, knowing he’ll see him later at the hotel.

-

Ethan lets Will take the lead. No one would figure Ethan Hunt would ever give up control like this but Will knows that’s just blind assumption, just gossip. He’s pliant and passive under Will’s hands, sighs and gasps when Will takes him apart.

“I’ve never had a headache like that before,” Ethan says, staring at the ceiling. He means he’s never hurt so bad he can’t stand it, can’t be _The_ Ethan Hunt everyone expects. The Ethan Hunt _he_ expects. There’s a thread of anguish hidden in his voice that gives it all away, even if he’d never admit it.

Will can’t say the plan went on just fine, that they got what they needed even with Ethan out of commission, cause he knows that’s not what he wants to hear. “I missed you out there,” is what he says instead, wrapping his arms around his waist.

Ethan gives him a wan smile, curls his hand around the back of Will’s neck, “Good.”

-

He comes home from the IMF offices sometime around 7, just when the sun is starting to set, and finds Ethan in a chair pulled up against the window, staring into space with a frustrated expression.

“I know this, I swear I know this,” he says, concentrating on the floorboards like they’re hiding the answer from him.

“No one outside of high school remembers Shakespeare,” Will says, banging around in the kitchen, trying to look like he’s not watching, not concerned by the way Ethan looks so angry at himself. “There’s nothing here, surprise surprise,” he says, shutting the fridge and leaning on the counter. That shakes Ethan out of it, inspires a slight grin that pulls at his mouth. Will never has food in his apartment, it’s a running joke.

“Thai?” Ethan asks.

“Perfect,” Will says and picks up his phone.

Later, on the couch with the TV playing mindlessly in the background, leaning on Will he says under his breath, “King Lear,” answering the random question he’d had hours ago. Ethan was a drama major in college.

-

It’s not age (and no one would suggest it), it’s trauma. Most agents are retired before 50 if they haven’t already found themselves a desk at the office. And none of them had been the IMF’s golden boy for 20 years. No one demands as much from themselves as Ethan does. The list of ridiculous stunts he’s pulled is a physical thing tacked up on the wall at the training center. 

Will hasn’t seen the half of it, only knows the history of Ethan’s injuries from his medical files which are almost as thick as the files of his exploits. He’d been the point person in the analyst pool for Ethan Hunt before Ethan even knew it (he barely took any of their advice anyway), he was the one the Secretary had trusted, so Will knows the files backward and forward. Broken legs and cracked ribs heal and leave a scar, but head injuries don’t usually just go away without taking something with them.

Hell, Will still kicks himself for not checking Ethan over after he hit his head climbing the Burj. That one’s in there, in the files: minor complicated brain contusion.

-

Will’s not sure who’s going to be the one to strangle the MI6 agent on the other end of the line but he figures he’s gonna have to fight Luther for the privilege.

“Hunt, we need the answer now,” Agent Moore says through their earpieces.

“We know that,” Benji snaps from where he’s holed up in the security room 30 stories down.

“We just have to- fucking…” Ethan’s voice trails off. Will takes a steadying breath so his concern doesn’t show on his face as he mingles among the party crowd. He’s not with Ethan, he can only listen as he hesitates too long to make a decision.

“If this is the great Ethan Hunt I’ve got to say I’m-” Moore gets cut off before he can prove himself to be more of an asshole.

“Service tunnels,” Jane says, sharp but firm. “If Benji can turn off the cameras-”

“On it!” Benji chirps.

“Right,” Ethan says, confidence back in his voice. “Moore if you’re where you’re supposed to be you only need to go down a floor. Jane, with me.”

And then it all reels back into motion, the momentary pause loses them nothing. It’s Will’s turn to seduce the rich guy and when it’s all over Will teases Ethan about it and doesn’t mention anything else.

-

“I don’t hate DC,” Ethan assures him.

“Well you don’t _like_ it,” Will says, flipping up the collar on his jacket. It’s 38 goddamn degrees out with snow on the ground and Ethan wants to walk around Potomac park for some ridiculous reason.

Ethan gives him a look, “I’ve never said that. I like it just fine.”

“Liar,” Will accuses and Ethan laughs.

They stop at the top of the Watergate steps, the Lincoln Memorial behind them, faces to the river. Will can’t feel his ears.

“You’ve been everywhere in the world,” Will says, “You can’t possibly want to live here.”

There’s a quick flicker of unease in Ethan’s expression before he gives a considering tilt of his head and starts down the steps. “I’m going to have to think about ending up somewhere,” he glances over at Will, “Probably sooner than later.”

There’s no missing the morose tone to his voice now. He’s been pretending that it’s not happening, that it’s not affecting him, that if he keeps running through everything it won’t matter. Will reaches out and snags his elbow, bringing them to a stop halfway down.

“No one thinks lesser of you,” he says.

Ethan gives a frustrated huff, “That’s not what it’s about.” He’s staring at Will knowing that Will understands, because Will’s been watching.

“I know,” Will says quietly, “you don’t stop being Ethan Hunt because you can’t say ‘restitution’ in Japanese.”

That gets him the smallest twitch at the corner of Ethan’s lips. He looks away briefly, out across the river, turns back to Will a beat later. “I do if it means I can’t do my job.”

They’re not the most outwardly affectionate couple, especially in public, but it’s February and cold and there’s only a small scattering of people out sightseeing today. Will pulls Ethan’s hand out of his coat pocket and holds it in his own.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says. They just stay there for a moment, and Will can’t believe he’s ended up here, after everything that happened between them. But he’ll go wherever Ethan goes. He starts back up the steps, Ethan falling in step with him, their hands still together.

“However, it does explain why you’d want to live in DC,” Will says and Ethan gives a genuine laugh.

-

Ethan accepts a month long sabbatical at the quiet request from Will - and Luther actually. Ethan doesn’t say anything to Luther about it, but Will knows it hurts and helps in kind. Ethan drags him to Madagascar of all places for a week and leaves knowing basic conversational Malagasy. He’s been trying to teach Will Spanish, it’s going…well, it’s going.

Will stays in DC when Ethan goes home to Wisconsin for a week to see his mom and uncle and help them to sell the farm that they’ve finally grown too old for. His mom’s 81 which shows where Ethan gets it from. There had been the briefest conversation about Will joining him but Will’s not upset, Ethan still comes back to him.

He spends another week bouncing around the country visiting friends and the last one at Will’s apartment. He mostly reads, a box full of books from his old house arrived a couple days ago. Will comes home with takeaway and Ethan gives him shit about his Spanish and it’s the most domestic Will’s ever felt in his life. He makes a note every time Ethan can’t sleep. When his mood swings and he goes stoic and quiet and hard to talk to Will knows he doesn’t mean to do it.

He’s fucking livid when the IMF clears Ethan for duty. Ethan hadn’t even told him he’d gone to do it. They’ve had fights before, Hell they were fighting before they started dating, but it’s not him Will’s mad at.

“He cleared all the tests with flying colors,” Hanley says, “like always.”

Will can’t even sit down, he’s on his feet in front of Hanley’s desk, fingers digging into his own hips so he doesn’t throw something at his boss. “He’s showing more signs by the month Hanley.”

“Our doctors checked him out, like they always do,” the man says in a placating voice, “they gave him the go sign.”

Will almost rolls his eyes at him. Of course the doctors cleared him, IMF doctors are just that: _IMF_ doctors. They do what they think is best, or what they’re told is.

“Do you not feel safe with him as team leader?” Hanley asks, knowing that’ll dig at Will. “Have your other team members complained?”

“No,” Will just holds back from snapping at him, “of course we feel safe with him.” Which is true.

“Hunt wants to work,” Hanley says, “we want him to work. He’s never let this agency down. We need him.”

Will walks away from his office with a weight in his stomach. He and Ethan don’t fight about it, they both know it won’t help. IMF keeps a short leash on Ethan Hunt and they both feel it tighten.

-

“He’s fine, he’s fine,” Jane’s saying, voice steady, but she’s only become a better agent since Cobolt and she knows how to sound calm even when everything is not fine.

“What happened Jane? Just tell me what happened.” Will demands over the line. He and Luther are weaving through the bazaar, searching frantically for the safe house.

There’s a pause and shuffling, and when Jane speaks it’s low, like she doesn’t want Ethan to hear. “Ran up on us in an alley, some shitty sedan but we couldn’t jump out of the way in time. Landed on his shoulder, but Will…” she takes breath, “he hit his head on the way down.”

After ten more minutes of searching Luther spots the dust covered sign indicating the shop where the safe room is hidden behind a show room of rugs. Jane opens the door for them, she’s favoring her left leg, obviously her right took the brunt of the impact.

Ethan’s sitting on a bench with his back against the wall, eyes closed, glass of water at his side. The scrape on his head isn’t bad, not even bleeding much. Will sits down next to him.

“They dead?” he asks.

Ethan’s mouth quirks up, he opens his eyes and looks at Will with a sidelong glance. “They’re dead.”

Great, so there’d been a fight too, could’ve made it so much worse. But Will’s a good agent too and he knows how to sound like everything’s fine when it’s not. He’d pull Ethan out of here immediately if he could, throw him on a plane back to DC and meet him there when all the stupid shit’s been dealt with. But Ethan would never let him.

“So you killed our only leads?” Luther quips, leaning against the wall. He’s smart too. Arguing with Ethan in the middle of a mission won’t get him anywhere.

“Yes, except-” Jane says, stepping gingerly into the room with a slight limp, she holds up a small thin zip drive. In an hour they’re on a plane to Honduras.

(The agency doctors diagnose Ethan with a minor concussion when they return to the states.)

-

“It’s not that I don’t trust you Ethan,” Will’s saying, for what feels like the hundredth time but really it’s the first time out loud, he’s only had this argument in his head until now.

“Then why can’t you drop it?” Ethan says, throwing their newest gadgets and disguises into a duffle bag.

“Because I’m worried about you,” Will says.

Ethan’s not even mad. He’s…resigned. In a way Will’s never seen. The orders came in that morning, it’s 3PM and they’re already in New York, gearing up to go again. He zips up the bag, stares down at it on the hotel bed for a long stretch of silence that Will wants to break but forces himself not to.

Eventually Ethan walks over to him, puts his hands on his chest. In an even, quiet voice he says, “Let me do this until I can’t anymore.”

Will sighs, drops his arms from where they’re crossed over his chest and puts them on Ethan’s waist. “That won’t make me stop worrying.”

“That’s why you’re here though,” Ethan says, with that half smile, “to worry about me, like always.”

Will sighs again, and he follows Ethan out the door. The mission goes well, or as well as they usually do given their luck, and Ethan doesn’t stutter or fumble or forget anything. It doesn’t make Will feel any better.

-

It’s three weeks later and Will is strapping his holster across his chest when Ethan drops a piece of scrap paper down on the table next to him.

“What is it?” Will asks as he inspects it. Across it, in a penciled scrawl are a bunch of words that Will can’t read because he can’t read Russian.

Ethan points to the last sentence, where the handwriting gets messier, the lines turning into vague symbols. Ethan says, “That’s wrong.”

Will looks up and Ethan’s never looked so completely miserable as he does now. He speaks before Will can.

“I can’t write it,” he says, and it sounds like a surrender. “Will I can’t make the words work.”

Oh.

“Ethan,” he’s saying, and he wants to sound sympathetic in the right way but Ethan stops him with a hand on Will’s where he’s still holding the paper.

“I need you to write it for me,” he says, calm, “and give it to Jane for the drop off.” He takes a deep breath, “And then I need you to call an extraction. For me.”

“Of course,” Will says. He’s never seen Ethan cry, and even now there’s no tears, but his eyes are wet and hopeless and he can’t hide it behind the stoic exterior.

“I’ll see you at your apartment,” Ethan says. Will kisses him til they can’t afford to waste any more time.

-

Ethan retires quietly two days after the team comes back from the mission. There’s no fanfare, no ceremony. Just a simple ‘I’m done’ and that’s that. Will is a little upset he doesn’t get to shout at Hanley, or someone, but that’s alright. Will finds Ethan in that chair by the window, eyes fixed outside in a distant stare. He orders tapas over the phone in very bad Spanish until Ethan can’t take it anymore and steals the phone, smiling.

That night he tells Will in the dark in their ( _their_ ) bed, with a sad, self deprecating laugh, “Thought I’d last a little bit longer.”

“You did more than anyone,” Will tells him, “And more than anyone should’ve asked.”

Luther takes Ethan out for drinks that Friday and then he himself retires the following Monday. Will withdraws from field work for good and takes the reins in the analyst bullpen the way the old secretary wanted him to, Hanley be damned. The IMF has to change, no matter how much it doesn’t want to.

Ethan settles into Will’s DC apartment. He had before, in little ways. Books on the shelves, shirts in the closet, toothbrush next to Will’s in the cup in the bathroom. But in a slow, creeping way, he’s found his way into all the nooks and corners. Ethan lives here – it’s not an insignificant thing, Ethan hasn’t lived anywhere in a long time. Not long term, not for good. But there’s the imprint of him in every part of Will’s place in only a couple weeks’ time.

“I always figured I’d die in the field,” Ethan says to him suddenly one night as they walk home from the bar that’s become ‘theirs’ simply by proximity.

It’s autumn now, Will isn’t wearing his jacket but he’s days away from it. He bumps his shoulder into Ethan’s as he walks. “You can’t tell me this isn’t better.”

Ethan is quiet as they walk another block. Will learned a long time ago that when it comes to Ethan it’s better to let him come around, give him his space to talk without fighting for it. Ethan’s fought for too much.

“It is,” he says as they wait for a light, “it’s better.” He slips his hand into Will’s. It’s 11PM and the streets are mostly empty but even if they weren’t Will would happily walk them holding Ethan’s hand.

They’re two blocks away from the apartment when Ethan slows to a halt and Will walks two steps before he gets caught and stops too. “You think I could’ve stayed?”

Will steps up close, his mouth a breath away . “Ethan, you had a fucking bomb in your head.” Ethan throws his head back and laughs.

-

Ethan still forgets words. It doesn’t stop just because he’s not an agent anymore. He forgets words, he stops talking in the middle of a sentence and doesn’t seem to realize, gives up writing something down because it just doesn’t come out right. Will never acts like it’s a big deal. He knows what Ethan means most of the time and when he doesn’t he stays quiet, waits until Ethan either says what he wants to or moves on. 

The headaches become less frequent though, the mood swings too, which Will fully attributes to the lack of stress. But if he thought Ethan was done with the IMF entirely he’s wrong (not that he actually thought that, he’s not stupid). Will routinely wakes up to find Ethan with the files Will’s brought home spread out across the table. Will tells him he can be an analyst if he wants and gets firmly rebuked. He gets regular calls from Benji and Jane looking for advice. He stops into the training center often, to the delight of the newbie agents.

“First one that kicks you in the head I’m gonna see stationed in Siberia,” Will tells him.

Ethan gives him a look, “As if any of them could.” Which: true.

They don’t travel as much as they would on missions but Ethan makes sure it happens more often than not. Will still feels like he’s tying him down in their apartment in DC, but Ethan never says anything against it and he actually looks happy when he comes home to it after a while away. Never thought he’d see the day.

“First time for everything,” Ethan says, landing a kiss over the book of Hungarian poetry he’s reading.

It’s not something he could outrun, it was always going to catch up with him. He’s given a lot and unfortunately it took everything it could. Will knows he hates it, knows that every forgotten word is a wound that won’t completely heal. But he’s still alive and as long as Will keeps fucking up his Spanish he’ll stick around.

(Will never properly learns Spanish and it’s totally not on purpose.)

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, indeed, Ethan Hunt graduated college with a degree in drama, those are actual facts.


End file.
